


Dune: Paul’s Women, Chapter 11 (Book II)

by Wodric



Series: Dune: Paul’s Women [25]
Category: Dune (1984), Dune - All Media Types, Dune Series - Frank Herbert, Frank Herbert's Dune (2000)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Female Relationships, Lesbian Sex, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 04:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14324511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wodric/pseuds/Wodric
Summary: Chapter’s summary:Alia taunts Irulan and makes love with Anirul.Jamis fights with Paul to the dead (small changes from the original).See chapter 10 (Book II): https://archiveofourown.org/works/14311233See chapter 12 (Book II): https://archiveofourown.org/works/14324583





	Dune: Paul’s Women, Chapter 11 (Book II)

Paul’s Atreides Women

Book Two: MUAD’DIB

Chapter 11

 

My father, the Padishah Emperor, was 72 yet looked no more than 35 the year he encompassed the death of Duke Leto and gave Arrakis back to the Harkonnens. He seldom appeared in public wearing other than a Sardaukar uniform and a Burseg’s black helmet with the imperial lion in gold upon its crest. The uniform was an open reminder of where his power lay. He was not always that blatant, though. When he wanted, he could radiate charm and sincerity, but I often wonder in these later days if anything about him was as it seemed. I think now he was a man fighting constantly to escape the bars of an invisible cage. You must remember that he was an emperor, father-head of a dynasty that reached back into the dimmest history. But we denied him a legal son. Was this not the most terrible defeat a ruler ever suffered? My mother obeyed her Sister Superiors where the Lady Jessica disobeyed. Which of them was the stronger? History already has answered.

\- "In My Father’s House" by the Princess Irulan

 

Alia saw desire in Irulan’s face since the first moment their eyes met. She knew it, but she also knew that the princess was out of her reach. Anirul wouldn’t tolerate it.

That wouldn’t mean that she couldn’t be teased and Alia took advantage of any opportunity to provoke the young princess.

Her inner fire had been partially washed-up since her relation with Anirul begun to raise. Anirul was a competent teacher and in the bed was always more concerned in giving pleasure than in receiving.

The following day, after the princess had arrived, Alia was in the swimming pool, alone with Anirul, after an intense bindu session. They were just relaxing their muscles in the warm water before passing to the sauna bath. There were two entries to the spa area. But there were no doors.

In the middle of the steamy fog, Alia saw Irulan approaching on the other side with a towel around her body. Anirul had her back to her daughter, so Alia decided to attack. She swam and approached the older woman and quickly embraced her beginning to caress her, kissing her all over her body, pushing her, tasting the wetness of her neck, sucking her lower lip, cracking her earlobe, pushing her continuously, to the other side of the swimming pool, with her back to her daughter, sucking her breasts, cupping her ass cheeks, the student almost surpassing the teacher in seduction techniques, pushing her until the other wedge, were there was a water ramp. Anirul felt back, lying laying down in the ramp, her body mostly inside the water, and Alia covered her with her female body in heat, nose against nose, mouth against mouth, saliva all around blending with the pool water, breasts against breasts, pelvis against pelvis, legs around legs. Fingers everywhere. Smooth skin rubbing warm skin. Both on fire under water.

Then Alia looked up to the place where she had seen Irulan. She stood there, immobile as a statue, in the same place, staring with her mouth slightly opened, with a dry throat, forgetting to breath.

The young Atreides girl smiled wicked. Her hips begun to dance, her vagina rubbing against Anirul’s body. Dancing up. Rubbing up.

She only stopped when her sex was above Anirul’s mouth and Alia begun to rub herself against Anirul’s face, both her hands holding her head against her. then she looked to Irulan again. They were so close now. The pair on the wedge of the swimming pool, Irulan at the entrance. If both girls raised heir hands, their fingertips would touch.

Anirul’s hands fondled her lover’s body until she cupped her ass cheeks to raise Alia’s hips and allow her to lick and suck better without being asphyxiated by their motion. She knew that Alias was beginning to become in a permanent state of dissatisfaction, but she also knew that she was beginning to have feelings for her, as she had never had by another apprentice.

The princess Irulan just stood there looking to Alia’s body moving in a crescendo of ecstasies, her hips rubbing furiously against Anirul’s face. She could hear the moisty sounds that her mother did pleasing the young Atreides girl and Irulan could see her well formed breasts jumping up and down at the same pace as her hips moved forward and backward. Her nipples were turgid and Irulan almost had the will to cup her breasts and play with her nipples.

She closed her legs in desire as she saw Alia dominate her mother. Then her eyes went down and she looked to her mother’s body. She had already seen her mother so many times naked, but seeing her with Alia, making love was different. Anirul’s body was still perfect. Her breasts also moved at the cadenza of Alia’s hips. Anirul’s hips were under water but raised from the ground and moved up and down trying to find attrition were there was none. Irulan felt sorry for her mother and also had the will to enter the water and place a hand in her mother’s sex to end with her obvious despair.

And Alia was a devil, she just smiled to her, lifting up and rubbing her own breasts just to tease her, drowning Anirul with her honey.

Finally Irulan couldn’t take any more. The towel felt on the floor and her right hand went to her sex, her fingers opened her lips and begin furiously to please herself.

Alia smiled even more, even if for a moment she was concern with the figure she saw behind Irulan. Wanna Markus was there with her assassin eyes, seeing all with an indifferent face.

 

***

 

That night she was again burning in desire. Her mind upset with the images of the swimming pool. She reminded the scene that she had after finishing. Irulan just picked up the towel to cover herself and run before her mother could see her. On her run she crashed against Wanna and ignored her.

She turned in the bed. Wanna Markus shared her bed. She was sleeping. Sometimes mumbling words and emitting strange sounds. In those occasions her body moved and twisted. She was not a good bedmate.

In one of those twists her sleeping tunic went aside and exposed her left breast. She was sweaty in her dream, but her nipple was erect and her breast inviting.

Irulan didn’t think twice, she stretched out her hand and took it in fullness. Soft and hard at the same time.

Wanna Markus body twisted and jumped at the touch. Suddenly in her hand was a dagger pointed to Irulan’s heart. Her breath was furious, her eyes were opened but Irulan was not sure that Wanna could see her.

“Wanna, I am sorry… I am sorry…”

Wanna begun to breathing more steadily. Her eyes gained reason and the dagger disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

“I surprised me, my Lady!” she said. “I am not ready for that… my memories are still fresh…”

“Wanna, I know… I am terrible sorry…”

“Do you want me to call another sister, my Lady?”

“No Wanna… no… I just need a moment alone.

Wanna saw her princess leave the room. She still thought to follow her, but they were in a Bene Gesserit house. They were safe for now. And clearly Irulan needed some time alone.

Irulan wandered in the palace without really knowing were to go. She felt sorry for Wanna and was terribly ashamed by her act. She needed the warm arms of her mother and her understanding, so she just went to Anirul’s bedroom.

Her mother was lying on her bed, sleeping. The sheets and the blankets had been pulled down and she was wearing only a short transparent nightglow.

“Mother!” Irulan called.

Anirul wriggled still asleep.

Irulan moved in the shadows and joined her mother on the bed.

“Mother!” she called again. It was been years since she went to his mother’s chambers at night calling her and asking her to join her in the bed.

“Irulan?” Anirul raised her body and saw her daughter, “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Can I sleep with you?”

Anirul smiled, she didn’t answer but opened her arms to receive her daughter. They lay down together. The daughter felt in her mother’s embrace, landing her head on her mother’s breast, and took ease of her for love. They just snuggled one against the other, sharing a peaceful kind moment. Anirul kissed her near the eyes and Irulan gave a big sigh of pleasure like a little girl. Her mother’s breast was there, warm for her; her mother’s hands were in her hair. It was comforting, and she held her arms around her waist like she used to do many years ago.

“You don’t come to my bed since you were a child… and you had fears or nightmares… what’s wrong Irulan?” said Anirul caressing her daughter’s shoulders. Irulan was a woman now, she was not a little girl anymore. Anirul could feel her young well developed breasts against her bosom.

Irulan shrugged. She knew that if there was someone she could trust was in her mother but it was difficult for her to explain all… from her need of sex… her lust… Alia figure invading her wet dreams… Wanna’s rejection…

“I am longing for a man! Will father marry me son?”

“Probably… and probably you will wish he didn’t!”

“Why?” Irulan asked.

“He is planning to marry you with a Harkonnen.”

“With Feyd-Rautha? He raped Wanna…”

“Or him or Glossu Rabban, his brother, known as the Beast. Let us hope we can change his mind…”

“So… why did father send me here? He could have sent anyone… anyone… even count Fenring! To meet Feyd-Rautha?”

“Was the Truthsayer with him?”

“No. She went to Wallach IX. Nobody knows why. Lady Margot was with him. And the count. He made love in front of me…”

“His friendship with that count is a strange thing. I always hated when he was present. Sometimes I think that it is much more than friendship.”

“But the count is a eunuch!”

“And your father isn’t.”

Irulan felt like a dumb child when she understood the meaning her mother’s words.

“Did my father made love to you while the count was watching?”

“Yes… forget about it… it has been a long time that the emperor shares his bed with me!” Anirul looked to her daughter “Did you said to him why I was here?”

“Yes, I had to.”

“It doesn’t matter much now that I have found Alia.”

“Is she Paul’s sister?”

“Yes, she is the one that the Sister Superiors planned in their genetic breeding program. Her mother Jessica hid her.”

“She is gorgeous! A stunning beauty.” without noticing Irulan’s hand was caressing her mother’s bare leg. When she perceived she felt uncomfortable and her hand returned to her mother’s waist above the nightglow.

“You are also stunning, Irulan, you are a dazzling young woman! But be careful, my child! Alia is dangerous!”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know… I just know she is. I sense it. She is a seductress… I am falling for her…”

“She has my age…”

Anirul ignored her daughter.

“It is imperative that Gaius doesn’t get her…”

A sound on bottom of the bed made them raise their heads and look down. Alia was there just with her small nighglow, the left strap fallen from her shoulder making her left breast almost all visible even in the shadows of the night.

“I couldn’t sleep!” she hissed in a hoarse voice, “Can I join you?”

“Y-Yes…” hesitated Anirul.

Irulan felt her mother trembling. Possessive, she hugged even more her mother’s waist.

Alia’s nightglow felt on the floor.

Alia landed a knee on the bed and bended forward. The two other women were frozen, just looking at her. Alia’s mouth was near Anirul’s left foot. The emperor’s concubine could feel the younger woman’s hot breath on her sole. Alia bended her body a bit more, spread her tongue and licked the big toe. Then the ankle. Her hands raised trough Anirul’s long legs, inside, where the skin was much more sensitive. With her hands as scouts, her mouth begun to explore and lick Anirul’s body. When her lips arrived to Anirul’s knees her bare breasts were brushing Anirul’s foot still humid with saliva. Her hands reached Anirul’s waist and found Irulan’s arm. The arm was naked and Alia caressed it. The arm rushed in a quick retread leaving Anirul’s waist at Alia’s mercy. But her hands still went further and cupped Anirul’s breasts above her nightglow just in the exact moment that Alia’s lips brushed Anirul’s moisty pussy lips. Alia just smelled it, breathing over it without making any contact. Then she opened the nightglow bringing Anirul’s breast out, pushed up by the fabric.

“Shall I leave, mother?” Irulan had a dry throat and swallowed hardly.

“No, honey, you can stay if you want.” Anirul moaned, “You can learn… Alia will surpass us all…”

And Irulan wanted it. She wanted to see all.

Alia’s hands picked a pillow and removed the pillowcase. While she was stirring all over Anirul’s body she said:

“I am going to blindfold you…”

Anirul just nodded. Irulan was speechless and at the same time stunned to see how her mother was dominated by the younger woman.

“You can please yourself while you watch…” said Alia looking intensely to Irulan. The princess shook her head but her hand betrayed her and found her sex.

After Anirul was blinded, Alia undressed her, opening totally the nightglow, her breasts swung slightly and free and Alia sank her mouth on her nipples and sucked them, first one then the other, as if she was sucking a penis. Then her lips got up from the nipple and Alia looked directly to Irulan. Eyes met eyes.

Alia look to Irulan then to Anirul’s exposed breasts and erect nipples.

Without words Alia made an inviting gesture with her head, pointing Anirul’s tilting inviting tits. Irulan was fingering herself and looked to her mother attractive tempting boobs, then to her blindfold. She would never know…

She shook her head again but this time she resisted the temptation.

Alia just made a wicked smiled and took herself almost all the boob in her mouth while watching directly to Irulan. Then she rose up and her mouth fused with Anirul’s and they kissed, her tongues dancing the fool’s dance. 

Alia rubbed herself all over Anirul’s body, parted her legs, slided herself between them, glued her sex to Anirul’s, and moved, moved, dragged with desperation, seeking the contact of their clitoris, like a man she striked against Anirul, to feel the two sexes mating, meeting, melting, bolting. Rubbing one against the other, their juices and odours fused in one. Their female bodies sealed and annealed and bumping.

Then as Alia felt her pleasure coming she entered in the frenzy before orgasm. For a moment she tried to stop her hips, to prolong the pleasure, than fell down and opened her mouth again to engulf Anirul’s breast, to assault her heated nipples that were seeking to be sucked. Then her hips resumed the movement and the final blast came.

She got up. Apparently near them Irulan also had reached her orgasm. Alia leaved the bed and left mother and daughter there embraced again. The last thing that she saw before leaving the room was Irulan removing his mother’s blindfold.

 

***

 

Jessica awakened in cave darkness, sensing the stir of Fremen around her, smelling the acrid stillsuit odor. Her inner timesense told her it would soon be night outside, but the cave remained in blackness, shielded from the desert by the plastic hoods that trapped their body moisture within this space.

She realized that she had permitted herself the utterly relaxing sleep of great fatigue, after Paul’s intrusion, and this suggested something of her own unconscious assessment on personal security within Stilgar’s troop, even with her mistrust about Jamis intentions.

She turned in the hammock that had been fashioned of her robe, slipped her feet to the rock floor and into her desert boots.

I must remember to fasten the boots slip-fashion to help my stillsuit’s pumping action, she thought.

There are so many things to remember.

She could still feel Paul’s hand in her breast and his member inside her. She could still taste their morning meal – the morsel of bird flesh and grain bound within a leaf with spice honey – and it came to her that the use of time was turned around here: night was the day of activity and day was the time of rest.

Night conceals; night is safest.

She unhooked her robe from its hammock pegs in a rock alcove, fumbled with the fabric in the dark until she found the top, slipped into it.

How to get a message out to the Bene Gesserit? she wondered. They would have to be told of the two strays in Arrakeen sanctuary.

Glowglobes came alight farther into the cave. She saw people moving there, Paul among them already dressed and with his hood thrown back to reveal the aquiline Atreides profile. They changed glances, communicating, but they didn’t talk. She also saw the beautiful Chani besides him. Jessica smiled looking to the two. They seemed two lovebirds talking softly near each other’s ears, smiling like fools. Changing glimpses and childish caresses. What a paradox, thought Jessica, since Paul’s had been inside her not long ago. But she was also happy, her son still needed a concubine.

He had acted so strangely before he retired, she thought. Withdrawn. Jamis had upset him. They could be in danger. He was like one come back from the dead, not yet fully aware of his return, his eyes half shut and glassy with the inward stare. It made her think of his warning about the spice-impregnated diet: addictive.

Are there side effects? she wondered. He said it had something to do with his prescient faculty, but he has been strangely silent about what he sees.

Stilgar came from shadows to her right, crossed to the group beneath the glowglobes. She marked how he fingered his beard and the watchful, cat-stalking look of him.

Abrupt fear shot through Jessica as her senses awakened to the tensions visible in the people gathered around Paul – the stiff movements, the ritual positions.

"They have my countenance!" Stilgar rumbled.

Jessica recognized the man Stilgar confronted – Jamis! She saw then the rage in Jamis –the tight set of his shoulders.

Jamis, the man Paul bested! The man who had saw them. He was a menace! she thought.

"You know the rule, Stilgar," Jamis said.

"Who knows it better?" Stilgar asked, and she heard the tone of placation in his voice, the attempt to smooth something over.

"I choose the combat," Jamis growled.

Jessica sped across the cave, grasped Stilgar’s arm. "What is this?" she asked.

"It is the amtal rule," Stilgar said. "Jamis is demanding the right to test your part in the legend."

"She must be championed," Jamis said. "If her champion wins, that’s the truth in it. But it’s said... "

He glanced across the press of people. "... that she’d need no champion from the Fremen – which can mean only that she brings her own champion."

He’s talking of single combat with Paul! Jessica thought.

She released Stilgar’s arm, took a half-step forward. "I’m always my own champion," she said. "The meaning’s simple enough for... "

"You’ll not tell us our ways!" Jamis snapped. "Not without more proof than I’ve seen. 

Stilgar could’ve told you what to say last morning. He could’ve filled your mind full of the coddle and you could’ve bird-talked it to us, hoping to make a false way among us."

I can take him, Jessica thought, but that might conflict with the way they interpret the legend.

And again she wondered at the way the Missionaria Protectiva’s work had been twisted on this planet.

Stilgar looked at Jessica, spoke in a low voice but one designed to carry to the crowd’s fringe. "Jamis is one to hold a grudge, Sayyadina. Your son bested him and –"

"It was an accident!" Jamis roared. "There was witch-force at Tuono Basin and I’ll prove it now!"

"... and I’ve bested him myself," Stilgar continued. "He seeks by this tahaddi challenge to get back at me as well. There’s too much of violence in Jamis for him ever to make a good leader – too much ghafla, the distraction. He gives his mouth to the rules and his heart to the sarfa, the turning away. No, he could never make a good leader. I’ve preserved him this long because he’s useful in a fight as such, but when he gets this carving anger on him he’s dangerous to his own society."

"Stilgar-r-r-r!" Jamis rumbled.

And Jessica saw what Stilgar was doing, trying to enrage Jamis, to take the challenge away from Paul.

Stilgar faced Jamis, and again Jessica heard the soothing in the rumbling voice. "Jamis, he’s but a boy. He’s –"

"You named him a man," Jamis said. "His mother says he’s been through the gom jabbar.

He’s full-fleshed and with a surfeit of water. The ones who carried their pack say there’s literjons of water in it. Literjons! And us sipping our catch-pockets the instant they show dewsparkle."

Stilgar glanced at Jessica. "Is this true? Is there water in your pack?"

"Yes."

"Literjons of it?"

"Two literjons."

"What was intended with this wealth?"

Wealth? she thought. She shook her head, feeling the coldness in his voice.

"Where I was born, water fell from the sky and ran over the land in wide rivers," she said.

"There were oceans of it so broad you could not see the other shore. I’ve not been trained to your water discipline. I never before had to think of it this way."

A sighing gasp arose from the people around them: "Water fell from the sky... it ran over the land."

"Did you know there’re those among us who’ve lost from their catch-pockets by accident and will be in sore trouble before we reach Tabr this night?"

"How could I know?" Jessica shook her head. "If they’re in need, give them water from our pack."

"Is that what you intended with this wealth?"

"I intended it to save life," she said.

"Then we accept your blessing, Sayyadina."

"You’ll not buy us off with water," Jamis growled. "Nor will you anger me against yourself, Stilgar. I see you trying to make me call you out before I’ve proved my words," Stilgar faced Jamis. "Are you determined to press this fight against a child, Jamis?" His voice was low, venomous.

"She must be championed."

"Even though she has my countenance?"

"I invoke the amtal rule," Jamis said. "It’s my right."

Stilgar nodded. "Then, if the boy does not carve you down, you’ll answer to my knife afterward. And this time I’ll not hold back the blade as I’ve done before."

"You cannot do this thing," Jessica said. "Paul’s just –"

"You must not interfere, Sayyadina," Stilgar said. "Oh, I know you can take me and, therefore, can take anyone among us, but you cannot best us all united. This must be; it is the amtal rule."

Jessica fell silent, staring at him in the green light of the glowglobes, seeing the demoniacal stiffness that had taken over his expression. She shifted her attention to Jamis, saw the brooding look to his brows and thought: I should’ve seen that before. He broods. He’s the silent kind, one who works himself up inside. I should’ve been prepared.

"If you harm my son," she said, "You’ll have me to meet. I call you out now. I’ll carve you into a joint of –"

"Mother." Paul stepped forward, touched her sleeve. "Perhaps if I explain to Jamis how –"

"Explain!" Jamis sneered.

Paul fell silent, staring at the man. He felt no fear of him. Jamis appeared clumsy in his movements and he had fallen so easily in their night encounter on the sand. But Paul still felt the nexus-boiling of this cave, still remembered the prescient visions of himself dead under a knife. There had been so few avenues of escape for him in that vision...

Stilgar said: "Sayyadina, you must step back now where–"

"Stop calling her Sayyadina!" Jamis said. "That’s yet to be proved. And what I saw proves that she is a witch! So she knows the prayer! What’s that? Every child among us knows it."

He has talked enough, Jessica thought. I’ve the key to him. I could immobilize him with a word. She hesitated. But I cannot stop them all.

"You will answer to me then," Jessica said, and she pitched her voice in a twisting tone with a little whine in it and a catch at the end.

Jamis stared at her, fright visible on his face.

"I’ll teach you agony," she said in the same tone. "Remember that as you fight. You’ll have agony such as will make the gom jabbar a happy memory by comparison. You will writhe with your entire –"

"She tries a spell on me!" Jamis gasped. He put his clenched right fist beside his ear. "I invoke the silence on her!"

"So be it then," Stilgar said. He cast a warning glance at Jessica. "If you speak again, Sayyadina, we’ll know it’s your witchcraft and you’ll be forfeit." He nodded for her to step back.

Jessica felt hands pulling her, helping her back, and she sensed they were not unkindly. She saw Paul being separated from the throng, the elfin-faced Chani whispering in his ear as she nodded toward Jamis.

A ring formed within the troop. More glowglobes were brought and all of them tuned to the yellow band.

Jamis stepped into the ring, slipped out of his robe and tossed it to someone in the crowd.

He stood there in a cloudy gray slickness of stillsuit that was patched and marked by tucks and gathers. For a moment, he bent with his mouth to his shoulder, drinking from a catchpocket tube.

Presently he straightened, peeled off and detached the suit, handed it carefully into the crowd. He stood waiting, clad in loincloth and some tight fabric over his feet, a crysknife in his right hand.

Jessica saw the girl-child Chani helping Paul, saw her press a crysknife handle into his palm, saw him heft it, testing the weight and balance. Chani kissed his check and murmured some more words.

It came to Jessica that Paul had been trained in prana and bindu, the nerve and the fiber–that he had been taught fighting in a deadly school, his teachers men like Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck, men who were legends in their own lifetimes. The boy knew the devious ways of the Bene Gesserit and he looked supple and confident.

But he’s only fifteen, she thought. And he has no shield. I must stop this. Somehow, there must be a way to... She looked up, saw Stilgar watching her.

"You cannot stop it," he said. "You must not speak."

She put a hand over her mouth, thinking: I’ve planted fear in Jamis’ mind. It’ll slow him some... perhaps. If I could only pray – truly pray.

Paul stood alone now just into the ring, clad in the fighting trunks he’d worn under his stillsuit.

He held a crysknife in his right hand; his feet were bare against the sand-gritted rock. Idaho had warned him time and again: "When in doubt of your surface, bare feet are best." And there were Chani’s words of instruction still in the front of his consciousness: "Jamis turns to the right with his knife after a parry. It’s a habit in him we’ve all seen. And he’ll aim for the eyes to catch a blink in which to slash you. And he can fight either hand; took out for a knife shift."

But strongest in Paul so that he felt it with his entire body was training and the instinctual reaction mechanism that had been hammered into him day after day, hour after hour on the practice floor.

Gurney Halleck’s words were there to remember: "The good knife fighter thinks on point and blade and shearing-guard simultaneously. The point can also cut; the blade can also stab; the shearing-guard can also trap your opponent’s blade."

Paul glanced at the crysknife. There was no shearing-guard; only the slim round ring of the handle with its raised lips to protect the hand. And even so, he realized that he did not know the breaking tension of this blade, did not even know if it could be broken.  
Jamis began sidling to the right along the edge of the ring opposite Paul.

Paul crouched, realizing then that he had no shield, but was trained to fighting with its subtle field around him, trained to react on defense with utmost speed while his attack would be timed to the controlled slowness necessary for penetrating the enemy’s shield. In spite of constant warning from his trainers not to depend on the shield’s mindless blunting of attack speed, he knew that shieldawareness was part of him.

Jamis called out in ritual challenge: "May thy knife chip and shatter!"

This knife will break then, Paul thought.

He cautioned himself that Jamis also was without shield, but the man wasn’t trained to its use, had no shield-fighter inhibitions.

Paul stared across the ring at Jamis. The man’s body looked like knotted whipcord on a dried skeleton. His crysknife shone milky yellow in the light of the glowglobes.

Fear coursed through Paul. He felt suddenly alone and naked standing in dull yellow light within this ring of people. Prescience had fed his knowledge with countless experiences, hinted at the strongest currents of the future and the strings of decision that guided them, but this was the real-now. This was death hanging on an infinite number of miniscule mischances.

Anything could tip the future here, he realized. Someone coughing in the troop of watchers, a distraction. A variation in a glowglobe’s brilliance, a deceptive shadow.  
I’m afraid, Paul told himself.

And he circled warily opposite Jamis, repeating silently to himself the Bene Gesserit litany against fear. "Fear is the mind-killer... " It was a cool bath washing over him. He felt muscles untie themselves, become poised and ready.

"I’ll sheath my knife in your blood," Jamis snarled. And in the middle of the last word he pounced.

Jessica saw the motion, stifled an outcry.

Where the man struck there was only empty air and Paul stood now behind Jamis with a clear shot at the exposed back.

Now, Paul! Now! Jessica screamed it in her mind.

Paul’s motion was slowly timed, beautifully fluid, but so slow it gave Jamis the margin to twist away,

backing and turning to the right.

Paul withdrew, crouching low. "First, you must find my blood," he said.

Jessica recognized the shield-fighter timing in her son, and it came over her what a two-edged thing that was. The boy’s reactions were those of youth and trained to a peak these people had never seen.

But the attack was trained, too, and conditioned by the necessities of penetrating a shield barrier. A shield would repel too fast a blow, admit only the slowly deceptive counter. It needed control and trickery to get through a shield.

Does Paul see it? she asked herself. He must!

Again Jamis attacked, ink-dark eyes glaring, his body a yellow blur under the glowglobes.

And again Paul slipped away to return too slowly on the attack.

And again.

And again.

Each time, Paul’s counterblow came an instant late.

And Jessica saw a thing she hoped Jamis did not see. Paul’s defensive reactions were blindingly fast, but they moved each time at the precisely correct angle they would take if a shield were helping deflect part of Jamis’ blow.

"Is your son playing with that poor fool?" Stilgar asked. He waved her to silence before she could respond. "Sorry; you must remain silent."

Now the two figures on the rock floor circled each other; Jamis with knife hand held far forward and tipped up slightly; Paul crouched with knife held low.

Again, Jamis pounced, and this time he twisted to the right where Paul had been dodging.

Instead of faking back and out, Paul met the man’s knife hand on the point of his own blade.

Then the boy was gone, twisting away to the left and thankful for Chani’s warning.

Jamis backed into the center of the circle, rubbing his knife hand. Blood dripped from the injury for a moment, stopped. His eyes were wide and staring – two blue-black holes – studying Paul with a new wariness in the dull light of the glowglobes.

"Ah, that one hurt," Stilgar murmured.

Paul crouched at the ready and, as he had been trained to do after first blood, called out:

"Do you yield?"

"Hah!" Jamis cried.

An angry murmur arose from the troop.

"Hold!" Stilgar called out. "The lad doesn’t know our rule." Then, to Paul: "There can be no yielding in the tahaddi-challenge. Death is the test of it."

Jessica saw Paul swallow hard. And she thought: He’s never killed a man like this... in the hot blood of a knife fight. Can he do it?

Paul circled slowly right, forced by Jamis’ movement. The prescient knowledge of the time-boiling variables in this cave came back to plague him now. His new understanding told him there were too many swiftly compressed decisions in this fight for any clear channel ahead to show itself.

Variable piled on variable–that was why this cave lay as a blurred nexus in his path. It was like a gigantic rock in the flood, creating maelstroms in the current around it.

"Have an end to it, lad," Stilgar muttered. "Don’t play with him."

Paul crept farther into the ring, relying on his own edge in speed.

Jamis backed now that the realization swept over him – that this was no soft offworlder in the tahaddi ring, easy prey for a Fremen crysknife.

Jessica saw the shadow of desperation in the man’s face. Now is when he’s most dangerous, she thought. Now he’s desperate and can do anything. He sees that this is not like a child of his own people, but a fighting machine born and trained to it from infancy. Now the fear I planted in him has come to bloom.

And she found in herself a sense of pity for Jamis – an emotion tempered by awareness of the immediate peril to her son.

Jamis could do anything... any unpredictable thing, she told herself. She wondered then if Paul had glimpsed this future, if he were reliving this experience. But she saw the way her son moved, the beads of perspiration on his face and shoulders, the careful wariness visible in the flow of muscles.

And for the first time she sensed, without understanding it, the uncertainty factor in Paul’s gift.

Paul pressed the fight now, circling but not attacking. He had seen the fear in his opponent.

Memory of Duncan Idaho’s voice flowed through Paul’s awareness: "When your opponent fears you, then’s the moment when you give the fear its own rein, give it the time to work on him. Let it become terror. The terrified man fights himself. Eventually, he attacks in desperation.

That is the most dangerous moment, but the terrified man can be trusted usually to make a fatal mistake. You are being trained here to detect these mistakes and use them."

The crowd in the cavern began to mutter.

They think Paul’s toying with Jamis, Jessica thought. They think Paul’s being needlessly cruel.

But she sensed also the undercurrent of crowd excitement, their enjoyment of the spectacle.

And she could see the pressure building up in Jamis. The moment when it became too much for him to contain was as apparent to her as it was to Jamis... or to Paul.

Jamis leaped high, feinting and striking down with his right hand, but the hand was empty.

The crysknife had been shifted to his left hand.

Jessica gasped.

But Paul had been warned by Chani: "Jamis fights with either hand." And the depth of his training had taken in that trick en passant. "Keep the mind on the knife and not on the hand that holds it," Gurney Halleck had told him time and again. "The knife is more dangerous than the hand and the knife can be in either hand."

And Paul had seen Jamis’ mistake: bad footwork so that it took the man a heartbeat longer to recover from his leap, which had been intended to confuse Paul and hide the knife shift.

Except for the low yellow light of the glowglobes and the inky eyes of the staring troop, it was similar to a session on the practice floor. Shields didn’t count where the body’s own movement could be used against it. Paul shifted his own knife in a blurred motion, slipped sideways and thrust upward where Jamis’ chest was descending–then away to watch the man crumble.

Jamis fell like a limp rag, face down, gasped once and turned his face toward Paul, then lay still on the rock floor. His dead eyes stared out like beads of dark glass.

"Killing with the point lacks artistry," Idaho had once told Paul, "but don’t let that hold your hand when the opening presents itself."

The troop rushed forward, filling the ring, pushing Paul aside. They hid Jamis in a frenzy of huddling activity. Presently a group of them hurried back into the depths of the cavern carrying a burden wrapped in a robe.

And there was no body on the rock floor.

Jessica pressed through toward her son. She felt that she swam in a sea of robed and stinking backs, a throng strangely silent.

Now is the terrible moment, she thought. He has killed a man in clear superiority of mind and muscle.

He must not grow to enjoy such a victory.

She forced herself through the last of the troop and into a small open space where two bearded Fremen were helping Paul into his stillsuit.

Jessica stared at her son. Paul’s eyes were bright. He breathed heavily, permitting the ministrations to his body rather than helping them.

"Him against Jamis and not a mark on him," one of the men muttered.

Chani stood at one side, her eyes focused on Paul. Jessica saw the girl’s excitement, her red lips smiling, the admiration in the elfin face. She rushed to him and kissed him intensely on the lips. The crowd cheered!

It must be done now and swiftly, Jessica thought.

She compressed ultimate scorn into her voice and manner, said: "Well-l-l, now–how does it feel to be a killer?"

Paul stiffened as though he had been struck. He met his mother’s cold glare and his face darkened with a rush of blood. Involuntarily he glanced toward the place on the cavern floor where Jamis had lain.

Stilgar pressed through to Jessica’s side, returning from the cave depths where the body of Jamis had been taken. He spoke to Paul in a bitter, controlled tone: "When the time comes for you to call me out and try for my burda, do not think you will play with me the way you played with Jamis."

Jessica sensed the way her own words and Stilgar’s sank into Paul, doing their harsh work on the boy.

The mistake these people made – it served a purpose now. She searched the faces around them as Paul was doing, seeing what he saw. Admiration, yes, and fear... and in some–loathing. She looked at Stilgar, saw his fatalism, knew how the fight had seemed to him.

Paul looked at his mother. "You know what it was," he said.

She heard the return to sanity, the remorse in his voice. Jessica swept her glance across the troop, said: "Paul has never before killed a man with a naked blade."

Stilgar faced her, disbelief in his face.

"I wasn’t playing with him," Paul said. He pressed in front of his mother, straightening his robe, glanced at the dark place of Jamis’ blood on the cavern floor. "I did not want to kill him."

Jessica saw belief come slowly to Stilgar, saw the relief in him as he tugged at his beard with a deeply veined hand. She heard muttering awareness spread through the troop.

"That’s why y’ asked him to yield," Stilgar said. "I see. Our ways are different, but you’ll see the sense in them. I thought we’d admitted a scorpion into our midst." He hesitated, then:

"And I shall not call you lad the more."

A voice from the troop called out: "Needs a naming, Stil."

Stilgar nodded, tugging at his beard. "I see strength in you... like the strength beneath a pillar." Again he paused, then: "You shall be known among us as Usul, the base of the pillar.

This is your secret name, your troop name. We of Sietch Tabr may use it, but none other may so presume... Usul."

Murmuring went through the troop: "Good choice, that... strong... bring us luck." And Jessica sensed the acceptance, knowing she was included in it with her champion. She was indeed Sayyadina.

"Now, what name of manhood do you choose for us to call you openly?" Stilgar asked.

Paul glanced at his mother, back to Stilgar. Bits and pieces of this moment registered on his prescient memory, but he felt the differences as though they were physical, a pressure forcing him through the narrow door of the present.

"How do you call among you the little mouse, the mouse that jumps?" Paul asked, remembering the pop-hop of motion at Tuono Basin. He illustrated with one hand. A chuckle sounded through the troop.

"We call that one Muad’Dib," Stilgar said.

Jessica gasped. It was the name Paul had told her, saying that the Fremen would accept them and call him thus. She felt a sudden fear of her son and for him.

Paul swallowed. He felt that he played a part already played over countless times in his mind... yet... there were differences. He could see himself perched on a dizzying summit, having experienced much and possessed of a profound store of knowledge, but all around him was abyss.

And again he remembered the vision of fanatic legions following the green and black banner of the Atreides, pillaging and burning across the universe in the name of their prophet Muad’Dib.

That must not happen, he told himself.

"Is that the name you wish, Muad’Dib?" Stilgar asked.

"I am an Atreides," Paul whispered, and then louder: "It’s not right that I give up entirely the name my father gave me. Could I be known among you as Paul- Muad’Dib?"

"You are Paul-Muad’Dib," Stilgar said.

And Paul thought: That was in no vision of mine. I did a different thing.

But he felt that the abyss remained all around him.

Again a murmuring response went through the troop as man turned to man: "Wisdom with strength... Couldn’t ask more... It’s the legend for sure... Lisan al-Gaib... Lisan al-Gaib..."

"I will tell you a thing about your new name," Stilgar said. "The choice pleases us. Muad’Dib is wise in the ways of the desert. Muad’Dib creates his own water. Muad’Dib hides from the sun and travels in the cool night. Muad’Dib is fruitful and multiplies over the land. Muad’Dib we call ’instructor-ofboys.’ That is a powerful base on which to build your life, Paul-Muad’Dib, who is Usul among us. We welcome you."

Stilgar touched Paul’s forehead with one palm, withdrew his hand, embraced Paul and murmured, "Usul." As Stilgar released him, another member of the troop embraced Paul, repeating his new troop name.

And Paul was passed from embrace to embrace through the troop, hearing the voices, the shadings of tone; "Usul... Usul... Usul." Already, he could place some of them by name. And there was Chani the last one who pressed her cheek against his as she held him tight for a longer moment and said his name.

Presently Paul stood again before Stilgar, who said: "Now, you are of the Ichwan Bedwine, our brother." His face hardened, and he spoke with command in his voice. "And now, Paul-Muad’Dib, tighten up that stillsuit." He glanced at Chani. "Chani! Paul-Muad’Dib’s nose plugs are as poor a fit I’ve ever seen! I thought I ordered you to see after him! "

"I hadn’t the makings, Stil," she said. "There’s Jamis’ of course, but –"

"Enough of that!"

"Then I’ll share one of mine," she said quickly. "I can make do with one until –"

"You will not," Stilgar said. "I know there are spares among us. Where are the spares? Are we a troop together or a band of savages?"

Hands reached out from the troop offering hard, fibrous objects. Stilgar selected four, handed them to Chani. "Fit these to Usul and the Sayyadina."

She smiled with her small victory.

A voice lifted from the back of the troop: "What of the water, Stil? What of the literjons in their pack?"

"I know your need, Farok," Stilgar said. He glanced at Jessica. She nodded.

"Broach one for those that need it," Stilgar said. "Watermaster... where is a watermaster? Ah, Shimoom, care for the measuring of what is needed. The necessity and no more. This water is the dower property of the Sayyadina and will be repaid in the sietch at field rates less pack fees."

"What is the repayment at field rates?" Jessica asked.

"Ten for one," Stilgar said.

"But –"

"It’s a wise rule as you’ll come to see," Stilgar said.

A rustling of robes marked movement at the back of the troop as men turned to get the water.

Stilgar held up a hand, and there was silence. "As to Jamis," he said, "I order the full ceremony. Jamis was our companion and brother of the Ichwan Bedwine. There shall be no turning away without the respect due one who proved our fortune by his tahaddi-challenge. I invoke the rite... at sunset when the dark shall cover him."

Paul, hearing these words, realized that he had plunged once more into the abyss... blind time. There was no past occupying the future in his mind... except... except... he could still sense the green and black Atreides banner waving... somewhere ahead... still see the jihad’s bloody swords and fanatic legions.

It will not be, he told himself. I cannot let it be.


End file.
